Beached rain

My partner is a great believer in walks on the beach.

Borrowing from him, I am pioneering a slight alternative… walks in the rain on the beach.

The other day during the mysterious Winter Storm Warning I took to the beach and was struck by how calm the water was and how warm the temperature was. (air not water) It was lashing rain and I can say there were very few people out and about. A few hardcore dog walkers in the distance and one drenched person running.

Ever so peaceful. No people, that vast water and those tankers anchored out there — what exactly are they waiting there for?

It is reading Gertrude Stein weather. It is reading The Good Anna weather and trying not to miss every occurrence of always or should that be all every always occurrence.

It should be noted that this is reading The Good Anna and reading Three Lives for the first time for me.

I love the circular nature of it. within which the circular nature of the women’s work, instruction, rebounds

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My tongue has been chasing a cup of tea all day that it has not yet landed in.

Weather exile, nay exhilaration

Fog (Sun eve) my first official note of fog amid bewilderment as to whether in actual fact I merely need new glasses.

Fog – rain – rain – wind (bit) – immense over cast grey bulge — rain – rain – rain.

This morning it’s confirmed a La Nina Winter Forecast for us this winter. What this means will become apparent as I continue “past-casting”.

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In Murakami weather moments I can report a degree of exhilaration running with water dripping off my sleeves and nose and eyelashes. I passed a completely bereft park and laughed out loud at how ridiculous running in pouring rain is.

But I admired the 8 people out strolling under umbrellas yesterday.

For the second of two nights at precisely 10.29pm I am aware that it is raining.

Yesterday’s 10.29pm weather event was immediately apparent to me because I stepped out of a pub, continued a conversation with my companion, dodging under the roofs along the street for shelter.  The rain was vicious and had come out of no where. It had been such a mild night when I started out. My coat, of course, the good coat, has no hood on it.

(What kind of a coat is it? You might ask. It is the coat approved by the sister. It is an elegant coat seemingly. Oh the impractical nature of elegance.)

Tonight it’s another variety of rain, darting rain to yesterday’s decisive and impaling rain.

But then the view of the rain differs, even though the time is identical — 24 hours apart. I am looking out at it, not up at it.

I love to look up at the rain, I made a remarkable discovery once looking up at the rain. It’s impact upon me I have never forgotten.

Did I mentioned it rained? I let out a yelp. I worried long into the night about my transplanted seeds. I worried so long I wrote to The Anglican as back up if the pagan prayers wouldn’t deliver. This morning The Anglican wrote by return to request I tackle World Peace by 3pm. I am fuelling up on eggs. I ate the best egg of my life in Pakistan, no egg has ever touched it, but these eggs polleny are coming up fast on the inside, over the hedge and down onto the last furlong … nipping at Karachi’s heels….